


Longing for Shelter

by IndridGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Dean is straight, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M, and like the male equivalent of a stone butch, deancest, not between the deans tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:33:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndridGrey/pseuds/IndridGrey
Summary: “Are you giving yourself the last-night-on-Earth line?”





	

Dean knew he was gaping at future-him-with-a-thigh-holster as the guy brought two chipped glasses and a bottle of whiskey over to the table.  He’d been surprised to have company at all in the tiny cabin, figuring other him would be off with Risa or whoever for the night, but now— “Are you giving _yourself_ the last-night-on-Earth line?”

Future him threw himself into the chair across the table and rubbed a hand over his face with a groan.  He sighed and held the hand out in a defensive gesture.  “Look, man,” he started, “I’m going to have to shoot something that looks like our baby brother tomorrow.  And there’s a good chance I won’t survive, which calls for impending-death sex.  Problem is I’m their leader here, which means even when I sleep with someone I can’t show vulnerability.  And I just—” he sighed again, and his voice was weary when he continued, “I don’t wanna fake it ’til I make it tonight, y’know?”

Dean did know.  “We are the walrus,” he confirmed.

The other guy gave a tired smirk.  “You gonna be a naughty girl and let your knickers down?”

Dean let out a huff of laughter and relaxed back into the flimsy chair.  “That was bad, even for us.”

“I’m practically begging myself for a pity fuck here, my standards are pretty low.”

It had been said in the same dry, playful manner, but any flicker of amusement that Dean had been feeling was snuffed out.  “I don’t pity you.”

“You should.  I pity you.”

Rude.  “Yeah, well.  Don’t.”  He fidgeted.  “No way am I being bottom.”

The other waved his hand in dismissal and reached for the whiskey and a glass.  “Dude.  Anal is, like, five miles away from being on the table right now.  There’s a good chance that at least one of us is going to have to run for his life tomorrow.”

“True.  What, then?  I’d say bj, but that’d be a little too blast from the past for my liking.”

Future him stalled for a split second and didn’t do a convincing job of pretending he hadn’t when he resumed pouring his drink.

Dean leaned forward.  “Wait…you…?”

The other guy leaned back with his drink and shrugged.  “Money’s useless these days; it’s all just forms of barter and/or violence.”  He took a sip, looking for all the world like he was bored.

Dean ran a hand over his face and settled it over his mouth like he was subconsciously shielding it.  “Jesus Christ.”

“Hey!”  It was barked, all façade of nonchalance gone just like that.  “You saw what it’s like out there, right?  You saw what’s happened to Baby?  It is desperate fucking times, man.  You really think that if all I need to do to get my people what they need is to swallow my pride and some asshole’s dick that I’m going to fucking hesi—”

“Calm down, calm down!”  The hand that had been over his mouth dropped to the table to mirror the other’s defensive gesture from before.  Dean sighed and met the defiant glare.  “Preaching to the choir, remember?  This is a lot more than just one or two people to take care of, so yeah, I get it.  I just,” he rubbed across his face again.  “I really thought we had developed enough other skills to be able to put that behind us for good.”

“Yeah, well, if an Apocalypse is good at anything, it’s fucking everything up.”

“Best-laid plans.  Does anyone else know?”

“Pretty sure Chuck does somehow.  If Cas does he hasn’t given any indication.  It’s…it’s the only thing that makes me almost glad that Sam’s not here.  He’s so—” fingers drummed the table in a burst of agitation and future him leaned forward again and made strong eye contact.  “Remember how we promised ourself that we’d do _anything_ else first if Sam ever came back after college?  Because he wasn’t some naïve kid or an angry, distracted teenager anymore and he’d figure it out, and then we either wouldn’t hear the end of it or that kid…he’d insist on doing the same, for the exact same reasons, so we wouldn’t have a leg to stand on to tell him no.  I—I pray, y’know?  Like full-on ‘Father Who Art in Heaven’ that wherever his soul is right now, it’s doing better than it would be doing here with me.  You _have_ to say yes to Michael because if you don’t Sammy’ll either wind up here, renting himself out alongside you, or —”

“Shut up.”

“ _Listen_ , asshole—”

“No, I get it, okay?  I’ve heard the lecture already and I kinda doubt it gets more inspiring the more I hear it.  So just…save your breath.”

Future him looked distinctly displeased but opted to polish off his drink rather than push the matter.  Dean drifted slightly as he watched the other plunk the glass down and flick it towards the middle of the table.  All timeline and Satan drama aside, the immediate question was if Dean could do what the other had asked.  This was a situation where it would be better to not try at all than it would be to fail, and even when Dean had been bursting with teenage hormones and ready to hump just about anything, he’d never really gotten off on anything he did with guys, not even the nice ones.

“So was it a ‘no’ to my lame lines?  I just wanna clarify because I’m going to turn in if it was.”

The guy was clearly exhausted.  Green eyes were flat, lips were slack, and Dean hadn’t really picked up before on how deep the dark circles were.  With a little jolt he realized that this was the face that Sam saw when Dean was ready to lie down and never get back up, the same face that he was always careful to never see in a mirror.  And then it really clicked: this was _him_.  The lame lines weren’t about sex.  Well, obviously they were a request for sex, but they weren’t _about_ sex.

Dean stood, walked over to future him, and smacked him lightly on the shoulder.  “Bed.”

It was vague enough to confuse the guy, who stood and followed Dean anyway.  “Bed as in you’re tucking me in, or bed as in you’re finally pitying me?”

Dean gestured for the other to stand in front of the edge of the bed, which he did.  “Both?  Neither.  Sit.”

Future him did so, and the dull eyes brightened with interest as they watched Dean toe off his shoes and then sink to sit on his heels on the floor.

“I thought you said no b—”

“I’m not.”

Dean plucked the laces of the other’s combat boots to loosen them enough to pull the boots off.  Then he rolled the socks off and stuffed them in the boots.  He brought the newly bare right foot up to rest the heel on his knee and then dug his thumbs into the arch.  Future him gasped sharply and jerked.

“You’re doing a bj proxy, then?  Same ballpark?”

“Nope.”

He repeated the brief kneading on the other foot before returning it to the floor.  He rose up onto his knees, got the holster off, set it by the boots, and started undoing the other’s belt.

“I feel like I’m getting some really mixed signals here, man.”  Nonetheless he lifted his hips so Dean could shimmy the jeans off, leaving him in boxer briefs and two shirts.

“How about you just shut up and let me work.  Unless you want me to stop at any point.”

“No, no, by all means do your thing.  It’s just weird watching myself do things to…myself.”

How did the guy think Dean felt?  “So close your eyes.”

“Bossy,” the other grumbled before dropping down onto the comforter.

Dean smiled.  “We like bossy.”

“True.”

Dean started making circular motions up the other’s legs—firm enough not to tickle, but not enough to be considered a massage.  He didn’t want to risk doing that thing where you feel shitty after a massage due to toxins or whatever.  The guy had enough things going against him.  When he reached the knees, he pressed a light kiss to the left knee cap.  The leg jerked a little like it’d been hit with one of those doctor rubber mallets, but future him didn’t say anything, so Dean continued his not-massage up to thighs. 

It was awkward to try to keep stubble from brushing against skin as Dean laid little kisses and nips on the way up to the hems of the underwear, but it was worth it to hear the little hitches of breath.  At least this was working.  He teased his fingertips under the edges of the underwear and steeled himself.  Thankfully, cotton was the only thing he could taste or smell when he licked over the swell of the other’s cock under his boxer briefs.

“Whaaa—I thought you weren’t—”

“I’m _not_.”

“I don’t know what _you_ call thaaaaaaaaaa—” he cut off with a whimper when the light drag of Dean’s teeth over his cock reached the head.  Dean smirked.  Confirmed: definitely working.

“Thought I told you to shut up?”  Dean sat back on his heels and gave a naked thigh a soft smack.  “Pull your weight and get naked and actually on the bed so my knees stop screaming.”

As the other followed instructions, Dean went to the nightstand, found some lotion, turned on the lamp, and then turned off the overhead lights.  Future him was laid out in the middle of the bed, watching and waiting when he reached the bed again.  He looked confused when Dean climbed on next to him, still only missing shoes.

“You’re not gonna…?”

“I’m swell just like this, thanks.”  Other him might be able to work past being a Kinsey 0, but Dean was running on the spirit of giving and barely staving off unpleasant memories from young adulthood and literal Hell.  Thankfully, future him seemed to understand and kept his mouth shut.

Dean manhandled the other until he could straddle one of the spread thighs, his knee just a fraction of an inch from aroused genitals.  He ignored all that in favor of picking up his not-massage, starting at the hipbones.  Future him closed his eyes and was quiet except for soft hums when Dean hit a particularly good spot.  Dean finished by rubbing lotion into each of the hands that were going to have to kill the next day.

The first direct contact Dean made with the other’s dick was by accident as he tried to feel out a position that would be better for his wrist.  Judging by the gasp that tiny brush got, though, it wasn’t likely that this would last long enough to put a lingering strain on the joint.  Dean got a tiny bit more lotion and just dove right in.  This part was easy because it was something he did at least twice a week; it was just that usually he could feel it from the other end, too.

He’d never watched himself before, though.  A couple girls had tried to get him to, girls who were like Rhonda—slightly dom and into humiliation play—but Dean avoided mirrors at the best of times, so he’d always drawn a line.  Now, however, in a weird way, he could kinda see what others thought they wanted.  He had to admit that if he saw a girl with his mouth that he’d probably have thought all the things that had been said to him over the years.  Ugh, creeping on himself was the last thing he needed to be doing right now.  Also, he had misjudged and his wrist was already starting to ache.

Leaning forward on his other arm made the hand wrapped around the doppelganger dick even more uncomfortable, but he was pretty sure this would work.  The other guy’s eyes had been squeezed shut, so his shocked gasp at the kiss was justified.  He recovered quickly, though, and touched Dean for the first time through all this by cupping Dean’s head and initiating a make-out session.  Dean let it happen for a minute, but then pulled away because 1) kissing hadn’t worked well enough as an accelerant and 2) if there was one thing that Dean Winchesters were good at it was kissing, and he would much prefer to not get a weird boner.  He skipped over all the stubble and would-be chest hair and laved over and then closed his teeth around a nipple—finally, there it was.

He watched future him orgasm with a sort of detached curiosity.  This was what other people saw—crow’s feet, full lips open over sharp teeth, a dark pink flush dyeing cheeks and neck and collarbones.  Dean was more than familiar with how his heavy breathing sounded and how his pulsing dick felt as it shot a load while in hand.  He waited until dazed eyes opened before he shifted back and away, gently dropping the dick.

“Do you want a washcloth, or will those tissues do fine?”

Future him took a moment to get back online before he glanced at the box of tissue on the nightstand.  “Tissues’re fine.”

“Okay.  I’ll be right back.”

Dean washed his hands over at the little kitchenette as quickly as he could and started disrobing on the way back.  He came to a stop when he was standing on the opposite side of the bed from future him.  He was amused to see that the guy had redressed into exactly what he’d stripped down to: an undershirt and boxer briefs.

“How do you want me?”

Again, it took a long moment for the other guy to decipher what Dean was saying.  Then he flipped the covers back and gestured for Dean to get in before turning off the lamp and climbing onto the bed himself.  Dean followed suit and rolled with it when the other pushed him onto his back and curled up into his side.  That was a little surprising, but not entirely uncomfortable.  Stubble on the cheek that nuzzled into the fabric over his tattoo was new, and he couldn’t quite wrap his arm around like he could with girls, so the hand of the arm under future him ended up in hair slightly longer and softer than his own.  Several minutes passed before Dean finally managed to relax.

If they had been in a motel room instead of an isolated, sparse cabin, Dean would have never heard the quiet “what if I can’t do it?”

Dean ducked his chin onto the crown of the other’s head and gently squeezed his nape.  “That’s not exactly an option.”

Another couple minutes passed and then, even softer than before, future him whispered, “do you think he’ll forgive me?  If he’s still in there somewhere?”

Dean wanted to reassure himself.  But Sam could hold a grudge like nobody’s business—and he wanted to think that his little brother had been forced into a yes, but this was the _devil_ they were talking about, and Ruby, just a nobody, had twisted Sam up plenty.  Dean wanted to trust Sam as much as he loved him, but the kid was only human.  Neither of them were cut out for celestial pissing matches.  He opened his mouth, some mystery flavor bullshit on the tip of his tongue, and he heard a soft snore.

Probably for the best, honestly.  Zachariah didn’t give a shit about millions of dead humans, so he wouldn’t have bothered to fling Dean forward if future him actually succeeded.  The guy didn’t need to get lied to on what Dean had no doubt was his last night.  And bizarre patheticness aside, there were worse ways to spend a last night than with someone who got you, with whom you could be vulnerable.

A small consolation, but there it was.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments make my day and concrit is welcomed~


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